


Four out of Five. For Now.

by simkhalou



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-25 06:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16191953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simkhalou/pseuds/simkhalou
Summary: What a ridiculous person Danny’s dumb heart chooses to love.(9.01 and 9.02 tags. Sigh.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings can be found in the note at the end because they contain spoilers.
> 
> Other than that, please don't take any of this seriously.

It’s the ringing of his phone that pulls Danny from his well deserved sleep.

He reaches for the thing with his eyes closed, curses when his sleep-clumsy hand knocks something off the nightstand before he reaches the phone.

He cracks open one eye to squint at the screen. It’s Steve. The fact that he’s calling at 4:34 at night, after the day they’ve had, it wakes Danny right up, all the way.

He still almost drops the phone on his face as he fumbles to accept the call.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks.

There’s no immediate response and Danny sits up in his bed, worried now.

“Steve?”

_“Danny,”_ Steve says. He sounds off, out of breath. 

“Yeah, right here,” Danny assures. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

_“Danny. I think- I think I’m having a heart attack.”_

The words don’t make sense in Danny’s head, but his own heart starts pounding inside his chest. He frowns into the darkness. “Excuse me?” he asks, incredulous. Because in what universe does Steve McGarrett have a heart attack?

In this one, apparently, Danny realizes when Steve just gasps in response.

He scrambles out of bed, feels around for his pants. “Talk to me, Steve. Come on, you still there? Steve?”

_“I, uh- I need- I gotta call 911,”_ Steve slurs out. 

Danny thinks it’s a remarkably good idea, given the situation. But. When the line just goes dead, because Steve’s hung up on him to call 911, it seems like kind of a dumb thing to do. Because now Danny doesn’t know what’s happening, can’t track if he’s still alive or not. And, ironically, that might just give him a heart attack of his own.

He dials 911, too, because he’s rather safe than sorry, and puts the phone on speaker, setting it aside as he talks and pulls on a t-shirt and jeans at the same time.

When the operator assures him that they’re sending EMS to Steve’s place, Danny hangs up on her and calls Junior. Because. Danny literally just realized as he gave Steve’s address to the operator, that Steve’s _not_ living alone. Junior should be there. And Eddie. There’s no need for him to die of a heart attack in his own home.

_“Danny?”_ Junior answers after a ridiculous amount of time, sleep-drowsy and confused. _“’s’up?”_

There’s another thing Danny realizes. Maybe Steve’s not _in_ his home. Maybe he’s at the Palace or out for a run or something equally dumb. 

“Are you home? Is Steve there? Go check on him, he’s having a heart attack,” Danny says, all in one breath as he rushes out the door and for his car. 

_“Huh?”_ Junior asks.

He’s a bit slow for a SEAL, Danny thinks. 

_“Hold on,”_ Junior mumbles. _“‘dog’s going crazy outside my door right now.”_

It takes a fucking _lot_ for Danny _not_ to scream. “Maybe because Steve’s _dying_ of a heart attack,” he growls. He throws the phone on the passenger seat and starts the car.

_“What?”_ Junior asks, still not fully awake.

“Go check on Steve!” Danny yells at him as he floors the gas pedal out of sheer frustration. 

There’s silence, then some barking. Then Junior gasping, _“Oh, shit.”_ And that’s where he hangs up on Danny.

Seriously, Danny’s going to murder the kid. 

He’s driving almost ninety in a residential area, so _of course_ Danny picks up some attention from an HPD patrol cruiser. They chase him for a couple of blocks before he flips on the police lights and they back off. And that’s kind of rude. What if he was heading into a situation that’d require back up? 

Back up, as it turns out, is already there when Danny pulls up the Steve’s house. HPD are there and an ambulance is parked out front. Lights are flashing like crazy. The door’s been forced open. Which means that Junior didn’t open it and that’s, like, not a good sign. Because it means Junior’s probably been too busy doing compressions on Steve’s chest to open the door.

Danny ignores the cop hollering at him to _hold on a minute_ and runs right up the stairs.

Junior’s outside Steve’s bedroom, trying to hold on to Eddie who’s not handling being away from Steve very well, apparently. 

He and Danny have that in common. 

Danny wants to go in, but there are already three people with Steve. Steve, who looks like he’s _really_ out of it. They’ve got him on a stretcher with a breathing mask covering his face. It’s all foggy and that means he’s actually still alive, so _that’s_ a relief.

“What’s going on? Is he okay? Hm?” Danny asks the group of medics, forcing himself to remain by the door and not get in the way of whatever potentially life-saving treatment they’re administering.

“Possible heart attack,” one of them says, like it’s news, and then they start moving. 

Danny pulls back, makes room, stares at Steve, who’s pale and sweaty.

Eddie whines pitifully.

Danny follows them downstairs. “He’s had a liver transplant about two years ago. And radiation poisoning.”

That information gets him a round of wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Anything else?” one of the medics asks, like he’s afraid the answer’s going to be _yes_.

Danny tries to think of something for a moment, then says, “he had to go to the dentist and get a filling replaced about three month ago,” just because he doesn’t want to disappoint on Steve’s behalf.

The medic frowns, shakes his head and tells Danny they’re taking Steve to Queens.

Two seconds later, the doors at the back of the ambulance are getting slammed shut and they’re driving off. 

Belatedly, Danny wants to ask if he can come with them.

“What the hell?” Junior asks from behind him. 

Danny turns and glares, because, _yeah_ , what the hell? “How am _I_ the one telling _you_ that the person in the room next to you is having a heart attack?”

Danny gets right in Junior’s face, stabs his sternum with a pointed finger, making the baby SEAL flinch away from him. 

“Ow,” he squeaks.

“ _How_?” Danny insists.

“I fell asleep with my headphones on. They’re noise canceling so I didn’t hear Eddie or-”

He doesn’t say it, but Danny’s mind goes there anyway. To Steve calling for help because he’s having a heart attack and no one hearing him.

Danny is going to break those damned headphones.

“Come on,” he growls at Junior and heads for the door. Eddie tries to follow them but Junior gently pushes his snout back and closes the front door. He barely manages to get in the passenger seat before Danny pulls away from the curb.

“My uncle died from a heart attack a couple of years ago,” Junior says apropos of being an asshole, apparently, because that’s the last thing Danny needs right now. A glare doesn’t stop him from rambling on, however. 

“He wasn’t much older than Steve is, but not a healthy guy. Smoked like a chimney, since he was fourteen, according to my mom, anyway. So _that_ , I can understand. But Steve? He’s like- Okay, maybe not healthy-healthy. With the liver transplant and the radiation poisoning. But I didn’t think- I’m not a doctor, but I don’t see how either of those affect the heart. It’s, like, got to be the stress, right? With the restaurant and the case. The tank-”

“Will you shut up?” Danny interrupts, before he loses the last shred of self-control and strangles Junior. He has it coming. But doing it right now, in the middle of traffic seems like a vaguely suicidal idea.

Speaking of. “Unless you’re trying to tell me this is my fault. In which case, you can get right out of my car. I’m not gonna stop, but you’re getting out.”

“I- I wasn’t implying that-“

Danny makes a snapping gesture with his hand, right in Junior’s face. “Zip, zip, zip.”

He shuts up after that, mercifully. Leaving Danny to mull his nonsensical ramblings over. And it’s not like he needed anyone pointing out to him that there may be a stress problem in Steve’s life. Danny’s the amazing friend who hired a person to help Steve deal with that, after all. But Danny’s personally not going to feel responsible for that. Because. It’s not his fault Steve’s unable to relax. He _wanted_ to get in on the restaurant. He’s _not_ going to retire from 5-0 in the near future. And he keeps thinking of stupid things to do in the meantime. Like volunteering for getting _brain washed_.

What a ridiculous person Danny’s dumb heart chooses to love. 

The thought makes Danny wonder if, by now, some surgeon has cracked open Steve’s chest like a fortune cookie and is looking at his heart. All bare and exposed. Riddled with scars. And maybe the surgeon goes like, _yeah, no surprise. Stabbed and betrayed one too many times. Good night. Adios. Nothing I can do here._

That’s probably not how they treat heart attacks these days, though, Danny figures. 

But still, he really wants to kick Greer in the face. Like that Chinese spy kicked _him_ in the face. At least three of his teeth are loose.

Chinese spies are the worst. Spies in general, Danny’s not a fan of, as a matter of fact. The CIA in particular, though. Because Greer. She just _had_ to add herself to the list of people who have disappointed Steve. Someone should have told her that it’s not a very exclusive club, because it’s a long fucking list, considering Danny’s only started counting around, like, year 35 of Steve’s life.

“I know you said to shut up,” Junior starts, like he’s trying to be respectful while ignoring what Danny said. And sure, Danny doesn’t really deserve all that respect because he’s been kind of an asshole to him. But it’s kind of ingrained in the kid. 

Fucking Navy, Danny thinks. 

“Should we call the others?” Junior goes on. “Let them know what’s going on?”

Danny squints over to him. The implication hangs so heavy in the silence between them, Junior might as well have screamed, _in case Steve dies._

Rationally, it’s not the kid’s fault. But Danny’s really running out of reason to not kick him out of the car while he’s going twenty over the speed limit down the H1.

He’s not going to say anything, though, because whatever will come out of his mouth, he’ll probably regret it come morning. Instead, he averts his attention back to the road. But out of the corner of his eye, he can see Junior pull his phone from his sweat shorts and start typing. 

Tani, Danny guesses. 

He’s not gonna say anything about that, because she’s, like, Junior’s go to person for this sort of thing. It’s not their fault that Danny’s go to person for this sort of thing is, coincidentally, once again, _the thing_.

Steve’s the thing a lot of the time. 

This goes back to the dumb choices of Danny’s dumb heart.

But mostly to the long list of shitty people Steve befriended over the years. They have a tendency to get him into shitty situations. Like, life or death kind of shitty. And, by some miracle, Steve always walks away, a little worse for wear, band aid on his forehead and a little dirt on the tip of his nose. Like a cartoon character. Like he’s not real, not human, not bound to the same laws of the universe as the rest of them. Even a shredded liver and radiation poisoning hits him like a mild case of the flu. 

Danny wonders why he worries in the first place. 

Not like a heart attack is going to be what ends Steve McGarrett. He’ll be back at work tomorrow, even after triple bypass surgery. 

He’ll be fine. 

Always is. 

Danny pulls the car into a parking spot close to the entrance of Queens’ ER. He doesn’t wait for Junior as he hurries inside and straight for the reception desk.

He greets the woman at the desk by name, says, _hi, June,_ and feels like adding, _the usual, please_ , like this is the coffee shop he visits every morning. He’s also tempted to make a joke about just being here to make sure they punch Steve’s loyalty card. But he’s not going to beat that particularly dead horse this very early morning, either. June deserves better. She looks tired. Working night shifts while raising three kids would be tough on anyone. Danny hates the fact that he knows these things about her for no other reason than being a frequent customer.

He sighs heavily and June tells him without being asked that there’s no news yet, _you know the drill, grab a coffee and take a seat._

They sit and they wait and they drink bad coffee for a while. Danny’s successfully bullied Junior into keeping his mouth shut. The kid even left an empty seat between them.

Tani walks in a little while later. Lou’s next. Then Jerry. 

Danny half expects Kono and Chin to show up. And Max.

He misses them all like crazy.

It’s after six when finally someone comes to talk to them. Danny watches as June points in his direction. He gets up and meets the doc half way. The woman looks at him with a pinched expression and Danny’s mind goes, _oh crap, this is bad news_. It doesn’t help that, after introducing herself as Doctor Madaki, she leads Danny further away from the rest of the group. 

“So, the good news is that your friend didn’t have heart attack,” she leads with, then pauses. 

And Danny’s not good with pauses.

“Well, okay, then what? This about the radiation?” he frets. “It’s the radiation, right?”

Dr. Madaki sighs and shakes her head, smiles soft and sympathetic. And that’s when Danny knows that she’s about to drop something big and is doing her best to soften the blow. It’s useless. If she knew that Danny’s life with Steve McGarrett is basically one big hellfire storm of bombs dropping all over the place, she’d come right out with it. 

“Just tell me what’s going on,” he begs.

“It was a severe panic attack,” she says and Danny kind of, stops. His whole brain comes to a very unpleasant, screeching halt. Because. A panic attack? He’s had his fair share of those. He’s never felt the need to cause as much drama about them as Steve apparently deems necessary, but well. Steve’s always been a bit hit and miss when it comes to his health. Like, an amputated limb doesn’t need the attention of a medical professional. But, apparently, a panic attack does. 

“The symptoms can appear very similar to what you’d expect in a heart attack,” Dr. Madaki goes on. “Chest pain, shortness of breath, just to name a couple.”

“But he’s fine?” Danny asks, almost expects Steve to pop up and be like, _let’s go home._

Dr. Madaki pauses again, smiles again, sighs again. And, yup, Danny feels the need to brace for impact again. “We’re actually a little concerned about the cause for the episode. Commander McGarrett’s mental wellbeing in general.”

Huh. Right. 

Danny’s brain was apparently so flooded with relief that he kind of blanked on getting worried about Steve McGarrett getting a panic attack whilst trying to sleep in his own bed. 

But now that he’s getting with the program, that seems. Yeah, that seems bad. 

Dr. Madaki puts a hand on her hip, cocks her head to the side and goes like, “Look, your friend told us that, just this night, he was captured by Chinese spies who put him in a red rubber suit, sealed his eyes, nose and ears shut and stuck him into a sensory deprivation tank for about six hours. All of this supposedly happened on a boat, here in Hawaii.”

Dr. Madaki looks at Danny like it’s the most ludicrous thing she’s ever heard. “Does any of that makes sense to you?”

Danny’s, like, almost tempted to deny the whole thing and see what happens. 

“No,” he says, “no, it doesn’t make sense to me. But. All that actually happened.”

The look he gets from the doctor makes Danny wonder if he and Steve will get to share a room in the psych ward. 

“It’s a long story,” he adds, smiles and pats the doctor’s arm in an insufferably patronizing manner, but he can’t help himself. 

“I’m still not releasing him until I get a consult from psychiatry.”

That’s fine with Danny. He smiles again and asks where they can find Steve.

He goes to corral the rest of the gang, fills them in and together, they make their way to the treatment room where they’ve got Steve sitting in a bed, waiting for the shrink. He’s still pale and miserable looking, but embarrassment makes the tips of his ears go pink and it’s a lovely color on him, Danny thinks.

Danny knows Steve, so he knows he mostly feels sorry for making everyone come all the way out to the hospital in the middle of the night, even though he wasn’t really having a heart attack. But then, it could have also been a real heart attack and Steve still would have apologized for inconveniencing their friends, the people who care about his wellbeing. So Danny tells him to keep his mouth shut before he gets a word out and makes a complete ass of himself.

Steve literally swallows his words and that looks like it’s kind of painful with how messed up his throat is. And Danny gets it, pictures himself lying in bed, trying to sleep but breathing feels weird around a bruised larynx and it’s all quiet and dark and it probably didn’t take much for Steve’s head to take him back to the tank and go into a bit of a panic about it. It’s refreshingly human of him, makes Danny’s dumb heart fall a little bit more in love with him. 

“You are _such_ a drama queen,” he teases, fondly patting the mound of blanket over Steve’s feet. 

“‘m sorry,” Steve mumbles. 

“Shush, shush,” Danny admonishes, rolling his eyes. 

“How you feelin’, brother,” Lou asks, all serious. 

Steve sighs and says he’s fine. Danny’s eyes keep rolling but he keeps his mouth shut. He’ll talk at Steve about that for a while when the audience is gone home and back to bed. 

He pulls away from the flocking group a bit, leans against a wall and let’s everyone else get in close and make sure for themselves that Steve’s not dying. He counts down from a hundred in his head. When he hits zero, he pushes forward and gets in between the bed and the gang. 

“Okay, all right, it’s late. It’s early. Whatever, we’re all tired. So out, everyone out. Go home, go to sleep.”

He gets mixed reactions from the group. Steve, predictably, is all for everyone going home, rasps some words of encouragement for them all to do what Danny says. He, of course, because he’s a dumb idiot, thinks Danny’s gonna go home, too. It’s adorably naive of him. But mostly dumb.

Tani and Lou give Danny these looks that say they know exactly what he’s doing. Junior and Jerry just blink owlishly and seem mostly glad that sleep is in their near future.

The room clears, everyone tells Steve to take it easy. Words that will fall of deaf ears but Danny thinks it’s sweet they all keep trying. They’re good friends. Most of Steve’s friend choices post Danny Williams have been good. 

With a sigh, Danny drops into a chair next to the bed and waits.

He counts one, two, three Mississippis before Steve says, “You should head home, too, Danno.”

That use of _Danno_ tells Danny, however, that he’s right where he needs to be.

“And what are you gonna do when they cut you loose? Hm? Walk home?”

Steve huffs, unhappy. “Look, Danny. They got a shrink coming, and I-”

He stops there. Probably wanted to say, _I don’t want you around for that_. And hey, Danny can be obnoxious and all up in Steve’s private business. But he _can_ respect Steve’s privacy when it matters. 

But honestly, part of the reason why Steve didn’t finish that sentence was probably also that he kind of feels like he needs Danny around for that. They have done therapy together. It’s familiar territory. One on one with a shrink, Steve might just feel a bit alone with who he perceives to be the enemy. Which is not the right approach to therapy or talking to a mental health professional. They usually are on the patient’s side.

(Danny’s seen _Hannibal_ , though, so he knows, occasionally, they also have dinner on their mind).

“Look,” Danny says, pretending to be a little annoyed. “The whole cocoon story you told the lovely doc? Didn’t go over so well with her. You gotta look at it from a normal human being’s perspective. It sounds ridiculous. Our lives are ridiculous. So when the shrink comes in, I could hang around, you know. Just to give confirmation on all this lunacy. That it’s not all, you know.” Danny taps a finger against his own forehead. “Crazy talk.”

Steve just sits there and considers Danny’s words for a moment, then nods his head and sighs heavily. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea.”

“Fantastic,” Danny says.

He waits, waits, waits. Can’t wait more than that.

“So,” he starts. “Let’s talk about what happened, hm.” 

Steve gives him a look.

“Consider this a practice run before you tell your story to the person who can have you committed to the loony bin.”

“It’s not a story,” Steve argues, offended. “Everything I told the other doctor happened.”

“But did you have to mention the red rubber suit?” Danny needs to know. “I mean, it’s not something I’d advertise, if I were you.”

“You do realize they didn’t put me in that thing for fun, right?”

“Huh,” Danny says, feigning exaggerated surprise. “And here I thought your lovely ex just had a weird fetish.”

Steve stares like he means to say Danny cannot be serious but is actually too insulted to express as much in words. So Danny relents, because he’s not a complete idiot. “Fine. I guess it was there to help with, you know, the depriving of the senses.” And yes, he knows Steve told the doc about the suit because it could be medically important. And as if to prove that point, Steve starts to subconsciously rubbing at the skin of his arms. 

Sense memory can be a bitch that way.

“Did it have to be red, though?” Danny wonders to offer a distraction.

“I don’t know,” Steve grouses. “Let’s get out of here, find Greer and ask her. How about that to satisfy your bizarre obsession with the suit.”

Danny is, honestly, not obsessed with the thing. Steve didn’t even look hot in it, and, as far as Danny’s concerned, that’s quite a feat for any item of clothing. But then, that’s not the point, anyway.

“You’re not going anywhere to find anyone.”

“Danny,” Steve says, really serious. 

“You’re going home and getting some rest. Meditate a little, maybe.”

“I’m fine,” Steve insists, like he didn’t call Danny a couple of hours ago because he thought he was dying of a heart attack.

“You’re tired,” Danny says. “I know that, because I’m tired. I slept like maybe ten minutes, before you called, and I’m guessing you didn’t sleep at all.”

Danny’s also guessing that the attempt at sleeping is what triggered the panic attack, but he’s not mentioning that. Steve gets so prickly when Danny points out his vulnerabilities to him. 

Steve also has this thing where he pretends that he’s a great big mystery to Danny. That Danny can’t possibly guess what’s going on in that thick skull of his, when, actually, Danny can read him like an open book. 

He knows that, right now, Steve would just _love_ to go straight to the Palace and get to work on finding Greer. And Danny knows that part of the reason for that is that he doesn’t want to go back home, doesn’t want to lie in bed again, with his bruised windpipe and the fresh memory of having his eyes glued shut and knowing it’s not something he can put away in one of his head boxes where he keeps all the other crap. This one is a little tougher to lock away and it’ll make him try to put off sleep and, really, that’s only going to drive him more crazy. And that’s going to drive Danny crazy. And maybe, in the end, they both end up in the psych ward after all. 

So. Danny knows what the task here is. It’s get Steve to get some rest. And there’s a way to do that. Danny knows Steve, after all.

So he adds, “Well, on second thought, _I_ didn’t get to hang around in a space bathtub for over six hours. Did you know people actually pay money to go float around in tanks like that?”

“I didn’t go in there to relax,” Steve argues, because, of course he didn’t. Danny knows that. But also because arguing is his default thing to do whenever Danny says anything at all. The important part is, Danny’s one step closer to winning the debate on whether or not it stands to reason to assume that Steve’s tired. And getting him to admit that is, like, half the battle.

The psychiatrist chooses that moment to walk in. It’s a man who looks average in every imaginable way. He asks some questions about what happened. Steve gives short, concise answers.

When they get to the red rubber suit part, he does check back with Danny, which puts Steve in a mood. His answers get more short and more concise after that. 

The doc seems to not be too concerned about Steve’s overall mental health though, because he says Steve’s free to go and offers a mild sedative to help him sleep. Which Steve emphatically declines as he finally struggles his way out of the bed.

“So, doc,” Danny asks before Steve can bolt from the room. “Any tips on how to prevent this from happening again?”

The man shrugs. “I have to admit, I don’t necessarily have a lot of experience with this specific kind of issue. But, I guess creating a sleep environment with low level stimulants could be helpful.”

Danny _loves_ when medical professionals go like, _I guess_ , but he keeps listening anyway. The suggestion makes enough sense to him.

“Try some white noise or music, a night light maybe. Touch, or just keep a window open for some air movement. Things like that.”

“Sounds good,” Steve says curtly. He just wants to get out and not be talked about like a colic-y baby anymore.

“If it doesn’t work, you can always come back and I’ll prescribe a sedative to help you sleep.”

Steve gets a vaguely murderous look at that suggestion, so Danny puts a hand on his lower back and smiles at the doc. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

He steers Steve through the door and along the hallway. Steve allows the touch until they reach the waiting area where it’s a little more crowded. He pulls away to the side and Danny’s hand suddenly hangs uselessly in the air. He drops it with a huff. “See, that wasn’t so bad,” he says. 

“Guess not,” Steve mutters, still prickly. 

He’s like Charlie when he’s tired. 

The thought fills Danny’s chest with fondness.

He herds Steve out to the car and into the passenger seat without much fuss. His eyelids start drooping before they leave the parking lot but he doesn’t fall asleep. Every time he gets close, he grabs at his throat and takes a deeper breath than normal. It’s like he’s reminded of lying in bed and thinking he’s going to die from a heart attack. 

Danny drives a little faster after realizing that.

Steve doesn’t notice Danny’s taking him to his house until he pulls up out front.

“What are we doing here?” he asks drowsily.

Danny wants to say, _don’t get me wrong, Junior is a great kid. But he’s obviously not qualified to, you know, keep you alive_. But that’ll probably piss Steve off. So he lies, says, “I took a wrong turn and I’m too tired to drive all the way over to your house now. Let’s just get a few hours of sleep, okay?”

Steve doesn’t like this, but he is tired. And Danny kind of subtly guilt tripped him a little there, without Steve really noticing. So he sighs and says, _okay Danno_ , and just gets out of the car.

The sun’s just starting to peek over the tree line across the street, so Danny draws the curtains shut once they’re inside. He’s not actually planning to have Steve sleep on the couch, but this will go over much more smoothly if Steve comes to the conclusion all by himself.

For now, he just stands there and looks like he’s not really sure what to do with himself. He always gets like this when he’s here, always takes a good hour or two to get comfortable and realize that he’s welcome to just make himself at home here. 

They don’t really have that kind of time today, though. Because Danny is fucking tired. 

“So,” Danny asks. “You want some music or the tv on? Hm? Maybe some traffic spikes to get cozy on?”

Steve sighs and says he’s fine again.

He’s not moving, though. Not to the couch and not anywhere else.

He’s gonna fall asleep standing up, if Danny doesn’t intervene.

So Danny intervenes.

“Babe,” he says softly. And he walks up to stand right in front of Steve, grabs his hand where he’s rubbing at his arm again, pulls it away a little before he can cause any damage there. “I’m asking, what do you want?” he says, enunciation every word, slowly and clearly.

Steve just sighs, because he sucks at using his words. 

He could have just as well screamed at Danny that he doesn’t want to be alone.

So Danny pulls at his hand, pulls again until Steve starts moving, starts following. They make their way to Danny’s bedroom. The bed’s still a mess, but that makes it easier to just get right back in. 

Danny needs this, too, if he’s being honest. A little reassurance that Steve’s okay. 

Steve sighs again. It’s half defeat and half relief. He gets in and curls up with his back to Danny’s side of the bed, keeping as much distance as he possibly can. His shoulders remain tense. He’s not relaxing, not sleeping. He keeps rubbing at his skin.

Danny’s learned to be patient with Steve’s stubborn ass. He waits, breathes loud and even, just to remind Steve that his ears aren’t sealed shut. The sheets smell like laundry detergent. 

It takes a little while, but eventually, Steve flops over, tuns and faces Danny. His eyes are open, just a little bit, just a sliver. He pulls up his legs, bumps his knees into Danny’s, keeps them there, touching.

Sound, smell, sight and touch. Four out of five.

All that’s missing is taste. And for a moment, Danny’s wonders if he should just kiss Steve. 

He sighs, heavy and heartfelt.

Maybe next time, he thinks and drifts off to sleep.

 

The End :)

 

 

 


	2. Four is actually plenty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But in general, Danny’s still convinced that raising kids with someone like Steve McGarrett is an insane concept._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit rushed and unpolished and was very unplanned. My apologies. 
> 
> Thank you for the lovely response to the first chapter of this!

Tomorrow is going to _suck_.

The day after is usually worse when you manage come out of a car crash mostly unscathed. Right after, you’re fine. But you’ll definitely feel it the next day. Danny’s been there and has done that. About a hundred times too many.

So, he knows that tomorrow is going to suck. It’s the one certainty he has left in life, apparently. Because everything else is out of his hands. Like, _everything_. Like, up until this morning, Danny - idiot that he is - was convinced that he has exactly two kids. One, two. Grace, Charlie. That’s it. Two kids to raise and teach about life and make sure they turn out okay. Which, by the way, he’s done a pretty stellar job at, so far. Aside from, maybe, Grace spending too much time on her phone and Charlie still being fussy about any food that’s not spaghetti and meatballs. But those are tiny little bumps on a road to raising responsible, kind, charitable, competent adult human beings. 

And then today, two became four.

And that’s a complete exaggeration. Danny’s aware of that. He’s not responsible for his work kids as he is his actual kids. Tani and Junior are grown-ups. They’re not going to cry if you leave them alone at the grocery store. Or, in Grace’s case, cry if you _do_ accompany them to the mall. Point being, they’re generally self-sufficient. 

But they’re young, not fully formed, inexperienced. Babies, really, in a lot of ways. And, apparently, Steve has got this idea inside his head, that he and Danny are the people to raise them. Teach them things. Educate them.

Like, _together_.

Like parents. Work parents. 

And with the job they got and the way it kind of constantly spills over into their non-work lives, Danny just knows it’s not gonna stop at work. They’ll be Mr. and Mrs. Miyagi to the very end.

And while, as an actual parent, Danny’s well aware of how rewarding this kind of thing can be, it’s a little worrying that he just gets sucked into these kinds of things by Steve.

Like, Steve decides to do something and automatically assumes Danny’s gonna be along for the ride. And that goes the other way around, too. For example, Danny wants to open a restaurant. And who worms his way in to become his partner? Steve. Because, to him, that’s just how it is. It’s no mystery why people make married jokes about them all the time. Steve’s been pretending to be married to Danny for a _really_ long time.

And it’s a little worrying how much Steve seems to be into the idea of his little work family. Like, completely. To the point where he thinks he has to orchestrate circumstances for Danny to take the kids on a field trip. 

It’s insanity. 

Steve’s an idiot.

Even though, honestly, Danny’s kind of glad Steve didn’t come out to the jungle with them. Because he’s close to ninety-nine percent sure that Steve would have gone right after Teague. Right off that cliff. He’s Danny’s co-parent idiot. But also _that_ kind of idiot.

Steve should work on starting a real family, maybe then he’ll allow them all some peace and quiet. And besides, this arrangement that Steve’s set up, it’s totally unfair. 

Because Danny gets all the marriage drama but zero of the benefits.

Like, _romantic_ benefits. _Sleeping together_ benefits.

So this gives Danny an idea. He’s gonna go and cash in some of those marriage benefits he’s owed right freakin’ now.

Tomorrow, he’s going to be achy and sore all over, all because earlier, Steve crashed them at full speed into a mini van full of Chinese spy elite soldiers. Fully intentional, one might add. So now, Danny’s gonna head over to _his_ house. And Danny’s going to drink _his_ beer and eat _his_ food tonight. And he’ll crash on _his_ couch. And tomorrow, when he can’t move an inch from that couch because his very bones will hurt, Steve’s going to be there and make Danny a big cup of coffee and a fantastic breakfast. Like a good husband. Or wife. 

Spouse. Danny decides to settle on spouse.

He puts on some comfortable clothes, some he can just hang out in all day tomorrow, and gets into his car. 

 

When Danny gets there, Steve and Junior are in the living room with a mountain of cash on the coffee table. And, thankfully, it looks like Danny’s _just_ late enough to get out of helping with the stacking and the counting. 

Steve looks tired and unhappy and Junior is just kind of echoing that. 

“How much did we lose?” Danny asks as Eddie comes up to him to greet him as if he’s got his pockets full of treats. 

Steve looks at Danny with that look. That very tired look. The one where Danny’s pretty sure the only reason Steve’s eyes are actually open is because of how much he scrunches up his forehead. 

“Two thousand, three hundred forty-three bucks,” Junior answers for him. He’s got the paperwork in his hands to prove it. Gesturing at the piles of money, he adds, “Why didn’t you just get hundreds? It’d be a lot less paper.”

“Kamekona,” Danny and Steve tell him at the same time. It’s the ex-con who insisted on different denominations. For reasons.

Junior nods his head, really slowly. “Right.”

“So, where are we gonna put this, ‘cause I’m not sleeping next to it.”

Steve gives Danny another look at that, this time, though, it looks like his eyes are going to get swallowed by his brows, he’s frowning so hard.

“Everything okay?” he asks, and all that genuine concern in his voice makes Danny’s dumb heart go all mushy and warm. 

“Everything is fine,” he says, rudely, almost in a way that’s mocking Steve’s concern. Because. Steve’s the one who wants to be married without the benefits. So he’s gettin’ no benefits. Like, Danny being nice to him when he actually feels like it. 

“I just got an empty fridge at home and I figured we should go over the budget for the restaurant again, now that we’re a couple thousand bucks short on what we planned with.”

“Huh,” Steve says, eloquently.

Danny pauses at that. Because, even though it’s a total excuse Danny just made up (because mentioning the marriage benefits would probably go over really awkward, especially with Junior in the room), redoing the budget has been on his mind ever since he got that panicked phone call from Junior this morning. The fact that, apparently, the thought hasn’t even crossed Steve’s mind is a little disconcerting.

And it’s a little frustrating, too, that Danny can’t just look inside his head and see what’s going on in there. It’s a little unfair that, even though they’re married in Steve’s head, Danny can’t actually pull the marriage card on him and demand to know what’s going on. And Danny’s spent years putting the pieces together on whatever the current issue is, and he’s a great detective, so he’s got Steve mostly figured out. But this, right now, it’s a little unclear. Because they got Greer, handed her off to someone else to deal with. She’s not their problem anymore, and more importantly, she’s not Steve’s problem anymore. 

And yet, there’s _something_ still going on. 

And Danny’s going to figure out what that is.

He needs to get Junior out of the house first, though.

Rolling his eyes at Steve, Danny lets out an exasperated sigh and turns his head to look at Eddie, who’s just innocently lying on the floor by Steve’s feet. He looks tired, too, but Eddie’s gonna take one for the team, right now. He owes Danny one. 

“You gonna take the dog for a walk or a run or something, June? Just to tire him out a little, so we don’t get a repeat of this morning tomorrow, hm?”

Junior gets that look. The one he always gets when he thinks something is a dumb idea but he’s too respectful or whatever to actually disagree. And yeah, it goes along with the whole thing where he still calls Danny _Detective Williams_ and keeps calling Steve _Commander McGarrett_. Like. Dude. It’s been a year, this is not the Navy. Adjust to civilian life already. 

“Eddie’s already tired,” Steve says on Junior’s behalf. 

At the mention of his name, Eddie perks up a little, and Danny’s almost already forgiven him for the money. It’s still coming out of his doggy treat budget, but belly rubs are back on the table.

“See, he’s not,” Danny points out. “He’s just depressed because you’re such a boring person. What did I tell you this morning about properly stimulating this poor dog?”

Steve throws up his hands in defeat, because, apparently, he’s too tired to argue. Which is actually unbelievable, because he’s not the one who spend over half a day tracking through the jungle.

“It’s fine, Junior, I’ll take him,” Steve says and that’s typical. He’s always working to sabotage Danny’s plans.

He doesn’t realize that Danny’s usually one step ahead of him, though. “Uh-uh, no. I need the dog tired out, not you. I need you to be awake enough to have a serious discussion about where we can save over two thousand dollars on a restaurant that’s already planned to run on the bare necessities to begin with.”

“It’s fine, I’ll take him,” Junior says, getting up and patting his leg to get Eddies attention - who’s all for a walk.

Good boy, Danny thinks. 

The dog, too.

Maybe raising these kids with Steve will be a breeze.

But in general, Danny’s still convinced that raising kids with someone like Steve McGarrett is an insane concept.

Because Steve’s the kind of person who will dump all his crazy onto the kids. Comes up with stupid ideas and Danny knows, _knows_ , that if he was to raise kids with Steve, he’d be spending all his time, every second, reeling in all the crazy. It’d be like being stuck on a motor boat, with Steve at the wheel and Danny sitting in the back, trying to row the thing backwards at the same time as Steve’s going full speed forward. He’d have impressive muscles but, ultimately, they’d all go down the waterfall and drown.

It’d be the end of Danny’s sanity.

And it’s not like they’re ever going to raise real children. They’re raising Danny’s children together. Sort of. But they’re not going to, like, have their own tiny babies, even if they eventually do get married outside of Steve’s head (not that Danny’s spent any particular amount of time thinking about that). The person who’d let them adopt would be a lunatic. 

“You want a beer?” Steve asks, defeated. He’s already up and on his way to the kitchen, so Danny’s answer’s really irrelevant. 

Danny, for his part, stops thinking about raising babies with Steve and follows him to the kitchen. “You got anything to eat?” he asks while Steve’s head’s still in the fridge.

“Didn’t really have time to go shopping this week,” he says sarcastically, pops back up and hands Danny a bottle of beer. Danny takes it off him, holds it in his hand, looks at it for a moment, wonders why a liver transplant patient has no food but a fridge full of beer. He opens his mouth to asks, but then thinks, wait, this actually makes sense. There beer’s there because Steve didn’t drink it, probably only does drink it when he has company, Danny’s company, so that makes Danny’s dumb heart go fuzzy again. 

“You want to order something?” Steve asks. 

Danny looks at him, probably a bit dreamily, before he can get a hold of himself. He clears his throat and cracks open his bottle. “Sure,” he says. “Pizza?”

Steve clinks his beer to Danny’s, nods and goes to call in their usual order. It’s no discussion, because there’s actually one pizza place on the island that makes one kind of pizza that Danny’s palate can tolerate. Things will change once they open the restaurant. They’ll have good pizza. Though Steve’s still stubbornly objecting the stone oven. Like, how does he think pizza is actually made?

So anyway, Danny’s got a mission here. 

He’s not really gonna make Steve think about money and the restaurant and where they can cut corners to adjust for the small budget cut they’ve suffered today. Instead, he’s gonna find out what’s eating Steve. Steve just doesn’t have to know that.

Danny follows him out to the living room again, sits back down on the couch and pushes some stacks of money aside with his feet to get room to put up his legs. He gets comfortable, waits for Steve to finish ordering and then goes, “So, how did things go with Greer?”

Steve pauses, looks at Danny, sighs. “She’s off our hands, ’s all that matters. CIA can deal with her now.”

There’s something in the way Steve won’t meet Danny’s eye when he talks about Greer that makes Danny really uncomfortable about the whole encounter. She put some demons in his head, or maybe, more likely, she set old ones free that were successfully boxed away a long time ago. 

She and Steve have history, brief as it may have been, and Danny thinks he knows Steve well enough to be sure that it’s not something from their personal relationship that’s gotten under Steve’s skin. It has to be related to the work they did. And, unfortunately, that means Danny won’t be able to get far, for lack of a sufficient security clearance. 

That, however, doesn’t stop him from trying.

“She say anything to you? About why she switched sides?” he asks.

Steve lets out a hollow sounding laugh. “Money,” he says bitterly. 

And yeah, Danny gets it. Steve’s a man of honor and duty. Always. The idea to betray his country for a payday is absurd to him. But people do just that, every day. He knows that. It just hurts a little worse when you know the person. Greer took the same oath that means everything to Steve and just walked all over it, over what Steve built his whole belief system on, over years of service and a sense of dedication that he will take to his grave.

And there’s exactly nothing that Danny can do to make it all even a little better. 

Except, maybe, he can help Steve raise their work kids, make sure they turn out decent and honest people. That, Danny can definitely do.

But that’s not gonna make Steve feel any better right now. 

“There’s something else,” Steve suddenly says. He takes a sip from his bottle, then sighs heavily.

It’s not a good sign.

“Greer made some comments and- I don’t want to involve everyone, but I just want you to be aware that there might be some fall-out from all this.”

So that totally puts Danny at ease.

“What are you talking about? What is ‘some fall-out’ supposed to mean? What exactly did she say to you? Huh? What?”

“Danny,” Steve says, in that tired way that always almost gets Danny. “I can’t really tell you much and you know why.”

Yeah, Danny knows why. Because it’s classified. Things are always classified. Danny _hates_ that word, because it means there are things about Steve that he’ll never know, even if Steve wanted to share them with him. And frankly, it’s not fair that the CIA or whoever feel like they can have that kind control over their marriage. 

Literally biting his tongue, Danny keeps his mouth shut. He feels like yelling at the injustice of it all, but this isn’t really Steve’s fault. Honestly, compared to a while ago, it’s actually a significant improvement on Steve’s part that he said something in the first place. He is talking to Danny when he could just as well keep all the crap to himself.

So, Danny is, in fact, getting some of the marriage benefits. Just not the fun kind.

Oh, well.

“I know, I know,” Danny relents. He sighs a bit dramatically and then gives Steve a serious look. “Just. Let me know when there’s something I can do, okay. Yeah? Will you do that? Please?”

“I promise,” Steve says, smiling, like Danny worrying is amusing to him.

Idiot.

But, for now, it seems like that’s got to be enough.

Danny rolls his eyes, takes a sip from his beer and then uses the bottle to gesture at the mountain of cash on the coffee table. “So,” he says. “A fire sprinkler system. Do we _really_ need that?”

 

The End (for real this time)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for a panic attack and a lot of irreverent talk about mental health issues.


End file.
